


What if I was nothing without you?

by dragon_rider



Series: Hold on to me and never let me go [3]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Bones, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mind Meld, Minor Character Death, Post-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Romance, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:36:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for months so I'm just going to go right ahead and publish it to see if I can get it done.
> 
> Thanks to [rochester](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rochester/pseuds/rochester) for reminding me there are people still excited about this 'verse (:
> 
> ~~~~
> 
>  **Unless you've read[Hear me calling out to you](http://archiveofourown.org/works/929676/chapters/1808558), this won't make much sense.** Reading part 2 of the series is not necessary.
> 
> I swear this story has a point. First chapter just doesn't cover it.

_I would have stayed_ , Jim thinks, and that heavy weight is just one of many that he carries on his shoulders, a consequence of a decision he didn’t take as a Captain but one that never leaves him.

Sometimes he’s still so surprised to be here. He stares at the stars and can’t help the rush of gratitude and humility he feels tingling under every inch of his skin.

He wonders if Pike would be proud of him now.

It’s a question he will always ask quietly, a question that will never be answered.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Bones drawls by the side of his chair, fingers curling warmly on his shoulder.

Jim smiles up at him and exhales deeply; feeling lighter, feeling like he _belongs_.

He’s home with his family despite everything and whether he deserves this or not he’s going to _enjoy_ it.

 “Just admiring the view, Bones, just admiring the view.”

***

During the next few weeks, the best balm for his pain is to realize—without a trace of doubt—that he’s been _missed_ , that—perhaps—he’s even _needed_ here.

Spock turns to look at him from his post on the Bridge for no reason whatsoever. Uhura touches his arm lightly, a smile clear in her eyes. Sulu takes every order from him with a grin on his face. Chekov is so keen about every little thing they find (‘ _Look, Captain, look!_ ’). Scotty calls him to Engineering more often that’s appropriate only to pat him on the back and show him what he’s been tinkering with. Carol smiles at him and tells him about new weapon systems they don’t even have yet.

And Bones…

Bones waits. He’s patient and warm and ever-present, doesn’t push Jim to talk about all the things he’s not telling him. He waits and he _stays_ , stays by Jim’s side without him having to ask him to.

Jim still can’t handle having him as close as they were, but he’s confident they’ll get back there in the end.

In his subtlety and empathy, Bones is the opposite of Joe.

Jim wonders what it says about him, the fact he’s able to love both.

***

Then it changes.

He can’t even think he’s dreaming because he never let himself dream of _this_.

***

They kiss urgently and uninterruptedly once they’re in the cozy confines of their cabin in Caracalla.

They kiss like they’ve been waiting to do it for years because they _have_ and Jim isn’t aware of anything except their points of contact—their lips, their hands scrabbling between getting rid of layers and not letting go of each other, their tangled legs making them trip as they walk further inside—and the distant memory of another lips on his, lips less soft and gentle but tireless and loving in their own pressing, rough way.

They stumble on one of the small beds and Jim gasps as he lands on top of Bones, leaving his mouth to rest his forehead against his bare shoulder and try to quieten the deafening and accusing thudding of his heart.

There’s a loud thunder miles and miles from them. The dim lights of the room flicker and the walls quake.

Jim clings to Bones with desperate fingers, burrows into him like he wants to disappear into his chest.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the thunders and their pants filling the silence of the shack.

“Jim,” Bones calls, voice husky like Jim’s never heard it before, hands rearranging them on the mattress until they’re kneeling and face to face, his thumbs on Jim’s cheeks coaxing him to open his eyes and look at him.

The infinite understanding there subdues Jim’s heart.

“If it’s too soon, then it’s too soon. We can wait. We can go slow.”

Jim shakes his head, even as he’s back to huddle under Bones’ chin.

He knows it’s not too soon, it’s just _too hard_ and that won’t change.

He takes a few more moments to breathe Bones in, to hear the fast pounding of his heart, to feel him pressed against him, to commit to memory all of these things he thought he was never going to get.

“We’ve done enough of that,” he says, straightening up, brushing his way back to Bones’ lips with his mouth on his neck.

He holds his gaze when Bones cups his face again, looking for something Jim hopes he can find in there.

“We’ve been going slow forever, Bones, we’ve waited long enough.”  
“Are you sure?” Bones asks, kissing Jim’s jaw like he could be content just doing that all night, patience dripping of his every move doing wonders to stick a lump in Jim’s throat but release the pressure around his heart at the same time.  
“I’m sure,” Jim promises, tilting his head back to also give a wordless go-ahead.

It’s the last time Bones asks.

It’s the reply Bones needed and Jim is glad he was ready to give it and give in again.

If it seems that Bones is trying to erase invisible marks from his body, Jim does nothing except encouraging him to keep going.

The marks are in his mind, in his heart and Bones can’t erase those; but he can leave more and deeper, he can take Jim over and over until he’s convinced there’s room for no one and nothing else.

***

Jim isn’t afraid of the dark. The blankness of space would be practically unbearable sometimes, if he were.

Still, Jim has never liked sleeping in total darkness. He keeps the lights at 2% in his quarters and once he’s been awake enough, he can discern outlines and even shapes in the dark if he’s close enough.

Bones’ profile is clear as day to him. If there are details the dim lights are hiding from Jim, it makes no matter to him. He can fill in the blanks, has every inch of Bones’ body seamlessly memorized.

It’s one of those rare moments in which Bones’ weird and acute Jim-senses fail him and he doesn’t realize it’s 4 in the morning and Jim is wide awake. He keeps sleeping peacefully, his arms every now and then tightening around Jim as if to make sure he’s still there, his head stretching until there’s a patch of skin he can brush with his lips as if the vague taste of Jim were enough reassurance to stop him from rousing.

Jim traces unmarred skin with the tip of his fingers in distinctive places, the motions indulgent and deliberate. Air leaves Bones’ lungs in a slightly more forceful exhale, his body curling around Jim before his unconscious mind allows him a proper sigh.

All the scars Jim isn’t touching are a good reminder of where he is and where he’s been. He’s not exactly looking for them, or confused when he wakes up or is about to fall asleep—in that traitorous state of mind in which it’d be so easy to slip—he’s remembering, making sure to cherish what he had and what he has now.

Sometimes he still misses Joe, as much as he thinks he has no right to do so because he’s back home where he belongs and Bones welcomed him back in ways Jim never even let himself hope could be possible. He hopes the universe—rather, _all_ universes—has a way of making things work for good people and stops Joe from being as alone as he was when Jim met him.

Jim looks at Bones, heartstrings pulling painfully inside of his chest until he reaches out and gives Bones’ closed mouth a kiss, staying close to puff the air that was trapped in him. He’s risking waking him up now, but can’t bring himself to move away. He’s having one of those moments when he panics and the only thing preventing him from screaming is Bones’ warm and solid presence against him.

Jim is not afraid of the dark, but sometimes he’s afraid of this—this _thing_ so strong but so frail at times, between them, afraid he’s going to mess it up one day, afraid there will be no amending it. Afraid he’s going to break Bones’ heart again one day, like he did when he almost stayed away from him; afraid Bones is going to break his heart and Jim will go insane grieving for the love he wasn’t able to nurture and protect.

His breathing is still closer to panting than normal breaths when he feels Bones stirring and he curses himself quietly, trying to move away from him if only a couple of inches to pretend he wasn’t— _isn’t_ —having more than a bout of insomnia.

He ends up even closer than before, his head firmly tucked beneath Bones’ chin. He breathes the barely-there scent of sex in, tries to use that and the salty tang of Bones’ sweat to calm him down but it doesn’t work, not really.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m here, Jim,” Bones murmurs.

He’s always so easy to wake and Jim makes a face, hating himself for being so fucking needy he’s just woken his _boyfriend_ —Bones doesn’t like it much, that term, says it cheapens what they have, maudlin old man that he can be sometimes, but Jim thinks it’s sweet and funny to tease him about it. For him, it’s special and new—in the middle of the night because he’s irrationally scared time is running out on them.

It is irrational, right? That Jim can be so terrified when they’re doing so well together?

Jim’s gasps stop, Bones’ comforting noises and words working their magic on him.

“Sorry,” he says, earnest, wetting Bones’ collarbone with damp lips, “’s too early. Go back to sleep, Bones.”  
Bones of course doesn’t listen to him. Jim hears the scowl in his voice without seeing it. “How long have you been awake, Jim?”  
“Just a little while. I’m fine. Go back to sleep. Please, Bones.”

Bones grunts and doesn’t feel happy to oblige if the way his whole body tenses is anything to go by, but he stops asking and merely keeps his hands drawing random, soft patterns on Jim’s back. He doesn’t dip lower and Jim tries not to be disappointed about it. Since they’re both awake, might as well have some fun before their shifts, he thinks, but Bones doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to make the most of their time.

He always knows what they both need better than Jim does, so Jim sighs and snuggles closer to him even though that’s nearly impossible given they’re already naked and pressed together.

Bones lulls them both back to sleep, his hand slowing down and almost stopping the last thing Jim feels before getting a few blessed hours devoid of any thought.

***

Jim rolls to his side and groans, frustration and discomfort saturating the noise. He dry heaves for all of two seconds before his stomach decides that oh, yes, he still has things in it that want to come say hello.

His head is throbbing, threatening to split itself into as many tiny pieces as it can if the pain isn’t halted soon. His eyes are trying to burst out of his skull. He retches with an odd detachment from the act itself, knowing in the back of his mind Bones would be worried sick and fuming if he saw Jim right now.

Thinking of Bones makes the searing pain retract its persistent claws somehow and Jim breathes through relief, grateful. He knows the situation aboard the Enterprise for Bones can’t be much different.

If Bones isn’t worried sick and fuming by now—after ten hours of them losing contact with the away team Jim and Spock were leading—well, it can’t be much longer until he is.

Today is their six months anniversary and Jim wanted to spend at least half the day with Bones doing all sort of clichéd, overly sweet things you’re supposed to do when you’re in love and loved just as much—or more, sometimes Jim suspects a lot more than what he actually gives back, a lot more than what he _deserves_ —and now? Now he’s going to be lucky if he gets to collapse in Bones’ arms before the clock ticks midnight.

It’s just his luck.

When he finally stops retching, he has just enough presence of mind to stop himself from collapsing on top of the mess he’s made. A pair of strong hands make double-sure that he doesn’t and help him sit against cold rock. Jim finds a breathy, small chuckle in him and ignores the way it upsets his gut and head, the way it almost has him puking all over again.

“Thanks, Spock,” he croaks. Spock gives him a nod and sits on his haunches in front of him.

Jim is distantly aware, in the same way he was of the fact he was vomiting violently, that the slight tilt of Spock’s head and that particular glint in his eyes mean he’s worried and trying to find an escape route from where they are but having little success in it.

He sighs, calls it a feat when he doesn’t gag in the process, and offers his First Officer a smile while ignoring the hell out of the fact he’s _hiccupping_ —really, embarrassing much?—and that his voice won’t stop shaking.

“Cheer up. I’m sure Scotty will whisk us out of here in no time. He’s done it before in far worse situations, wouldn’t you agree?”  
“Yes, Captain,” Spock concedes, “However, as it’s already been 10.45 hours, I would infer he is having trouble either locating us or penetrating through the thick and rare rocks that surround us.”

Ah, that. Jim waves a hand in dismissal, closes his eyes against the thick nausea that still clots his throat.

They’ve been hiding in the outskirts of a canyon, hoping the _really_ not friendly aliens don’t find them here. The same aliens that killed everyone except the ones they correctly guessed as the ones in charge, killed his whole away team without even raising a finger to do it. Jim sees his people dropping lifeless to the ground again behind his close eyelids and tells himself the noise he just made it’s just the aftershocks of his head being prodded against his will by said hostile aliens and breathes forcefully through his nose, remembering there’s no need for him to clutch all the Federation secrets that he has access to with metaphorical iron hands because there is no one trying to peel them from his mind now.

“Huh,” Jim squints at Spock, realizes he’s not the only one shaken by the ordeal. There are a few hairs out of place in his First Officer’s head and Jim almost smacks himself. How could he forget for even a moment what Spock did to get them to safety? He’d literally reduced the aliens to a shrieking mess. “I didn’t know you could do that, you know, with the mind meld? I mean, not like _that_. Are you okay?”  
“I am fine, Captain, it is you who suffered their telepathic assault. I should have realized sooner about their abilities, about their intentions and—“  
“Hey, hey now,” Jim huffs, or tries to, the hiccups still turning whatever he’s doing with his mouth to something ridiculous, “None of that. You didn’t know. You’re a _touch_ telepath, Spock. You know what that means better than I do and my head hurts, okay? So don’t make me explain it. Just trust me, there was no avoiding this mess. We just have to make it out of it.”

Jim is almost relieved when the headache gets worse again and he finds himself flat on the ground, spitting bile with red stripes—blood, that’s just _awesome_ , Bones is going to be _thrilled_ —because that way he can ignore the way Spock referred to how the aliens clang to his face and dug with cruel fingers in the hopes of forcing some juicy bits of information out of him.

He won’t think about it. The dissonance of forces, of mental voices and wills inside of him. The helplessness that threatened to drive him insane when he realized there was nothing he could _do_ , nothing to stop them because he was just Human and they were so much more. The resolve with which he vowed he was going to keep them from finding what they wanted even if it _killed_ him. The pain that rocketed through him knowing he wasn’t going to go back to Bones as he promised and oh, how much he wanted to be _wrong_ , how much he wanted to survive and never leave Bones alone, never be apart from him again—

He bats a hand away from his face once he’s done puking. “Don’t you _dare_ ,” he snarls, running on instinct even though there’s a tiny voice in his head insisting it’s just Spock and he wants to help and could help if Jim lets him.

He’s _had_ it with someone else inside of his head. What’s up with everyone thinking it’s such a great idea to just shove themselves in his thoughts like that, huh?

Spock’s hand drops. Jim is vaguely aware he’s resting on something warm before he loses the battle against consciousness.

***

A familiar figure clad in black is giving Jim his back.

Jim can’t lift his gaze from his shoulders, can’t get a glimpse of his hair to know whether it’s nearly black and matted from being in a helmet almost every waking hour or brown and neatly trimmed, and the subtle differences of their bodies that were nevertheless always sharp and obvious to Jim are slipping from his grasp.

He licks his lips, tastes a name on his tongue, the first that comes to it. “Bones?” he calls out, uncertain.  
“Jim,” Bones turns, a relieved smile brightening the expression that Jim can finally see and relaxing his posture. He opens his arms and Jim can’t reach him soon enough, can’t hold him tight enough to stop himself from trembling, “You’re here. Easy now, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”  
“Bones,” Jim repeats, the name soothing as it hangs in the air around them, “Bones.”

Jim doesn’t know how long they stay like this, but Bones’ arms are warm and solid around him, a comfort he can’t relinquish yet or else he risks losing himself.

Before Jim can search for his lips, Bones is kissing him, lips sweet and untiring, coaxing him to linger.

In the back of his mind, Jim knows some part of this isn’t right, that there’s something wrong with it, but with each glide of those lips on his it gets farther from him and it’s harder to remember—to remember that—

_He hears roaring—it’s Spock, Spock who’s turned practically feral in his defense of him—and he jumps to his feet, tries to help but there are arms around him already, pushing him against a chest, hands closing on the sides of his face, plowing, urging, diving into his mind and he has to be quick, has to be—_

“The Woriri,” he gasps, breaking the kiss, “They got to us again.”  
Bones nods, face grim, and keeps his hands firmly clasping Jim’s waist, not allowing an inch to separate them. “I feared that I’d lost you. That you weren’t quick enough to come here, away from them.”  
“Here?” Jim looks around, only realizing the observation deck looks somehow odd and distorted, bathed in red hues, that it isn’t the Enterprise, not really, and the space showing outside the windows is displaying constellations that he’s never seen in his life but somehow knows that belonged to the sky in Vulcan, “Bones, where are we?”  
“ _In a haven_ ,” another voice replies, muffled as if it’s coming from a faraway place, “ _A safe haven inside your mind._ ”  
“Spock?” Jim asks, stunned. He looks around but the deck only grows larger, swallowing its own edges and he loses Spock’s next words, strains to hear more as Bones presses him closer to his chest and growls.  
“ _Jim, it is I. Please, let me in._ ”  
“I told you not to come!” Bones shouts furiously, “You can’t come in, you green-blooded bastard! You’re no better than _them_ , barging in here without Jim’s consent!”  
Consent? Jim frowns. “Bones, it’s _Spock_. He’s our friend. Remember? Of course he can come in.”

He blinks, cranes his neck, squirming in Bones’ arms, and sees Spock right there with them, hands clasped behind his back. The door is visible and tangible behind him and something in Jim recoils at seeing it. He burrows deeper into Bones’ arms, an unbidden twinge of fear making him close his eyes.

“I can’t go out,” he stammers, “can’t let them see, can’t let them have me, can’t let them know what I know. They’d hurt our ship, the Federation—“  
“Jim, you are aboard the Enterprise now,” Spock explains, “There is no longer a reason for you to remain here. And the being you are clinging to is not Dr. McCoy, it is a manifestation of both your survival and protective instincts, a part of your own self. The real Dr. McCoy is waiting for you, when you awake, and he has given me his permission to reach you in this manner.”  
“You won’t take him from me,” Bones rumbles, his arms a vise around Jim’s back, “I’ll know when it’s safe and let him out, not you!”  
“No, you will not,” Spock counters, “You have pushed yourself too far. Your mind was in pieces from the assault and the exertion. I have spent the last eight hours putting it back together to the best of my abilities but if you don’t open up again it will be for naught. You will not reconnect to your other senses, you will linger here uselessly and drag your body and the rest of your mind to death.”

Jim opens his eyes again and takes a deep breath. Bones’ arms around him slacken and Jim assesses him with a look, searching for that same odd feeling that stopped him from knowing if it was truly him or Joe when he first saw him.

The tank top he’s wearing is tight-fitting and black, just as his pants, looks exactly like the clothes Joe wears beneath his uniform and yet he’s not muscular enough. It could also be Bones’ preferred outfit for a quick but grueling workout in the gym and yet he’s larger than Bones is but he responded to that name despite the incongruences.

He’s not Bones—or Joe, or anybody. That’s what’s wrong with this.

Did Jim really mix the two of them to feel safe?

Jesus fucking Christ—what is _wrong_ with him?

First things first though. He needs to get out of here.

He looks directly at—himself? But sees Bones’ warm hazel eyes instead, begging him to stay.

He shakes his head. “We have to listen to Spock. You have to let me go.”  
‘Bones’ scowls but deflates, arms hanging listlessly on his sides once he stops holding Jim. “I know,” he says, doesn’t sound like Bones anymore. Jim gasps, recognizing him, steps back at the same time Joe does, “Go.”

A wail resounds around them, even though Jim has his mouth closed, and everything crumbles. Spock seizes his wrist and starts running, pulling him to the exit.

Jim dabs his face with a trembling hand and follows him.

***

The sounds begin to make sense slowly, like they’re traveling through molasses instead of air, and even uttering the smallest whine in the back of his throat takes some serious effort.

When he’s finally able to open his eyes, he gets an immediate reward in the form of Bones standing beside the bio-bed.

He looks relieved but also pissed, which is the standard combination for these kind of—sadly, not unusual—situations.

Bones looks at the monitors behind him before his eyes—professional and slightly guarded because of it, or is he mad at Jim as well? It’s hard to tell, hard to do everything right now—focus on him.

“Can you talk, Jim?” Bones asks. Jim’s tongue seems to be stuck in the roof of his mouth, but he’s working to use it. He wants to nod, but can’t, “Are you having problems moving?” this time he does nod, if only once. The effort is dizzying, but it’s paying off and Jim has no plans of stopping, “I see. Take it easy. Spock said this could happen, that you need to get reacquainted with every nerve in your body. Apparently you fried everything trying to expel the Woriri of your head. You almost fried yourself too.”

Bones is talking like he always does when Jim wakes up in Sickbay after cheating death yet again, but Jim is more aware than ever—because he can’t talk and banter with him, because he can’t diffuse the tension with a kiss and asking about the ship—that it is a show.

Bones’ casualness is a show he’s putting up for Jim’s sake and maybe—hopefully—his own as well.

Jim almost _passed out_ in the middle of the Bridge just at the possibility of losing him _one time_. How can Bones take this over and over and not be destroyed by it, how can he do it without hating Jim?

His paralyzed mouth fills with a tart flavor. Jim can’t decide whether it’s guilt or pain or if he’s just about to throw up but it _hurts_ and he can’t take it.

He gasps, finally able to control his tongue and most of his facial muscles, if the tautness on his face is anything to go by.

Knowing he won’t be able to say much, he picks something he hopes Bones understands. “I hate this,” he says throatily after a few tries.

_I hate doing this to you._

Bones stares at him, stunned, before leaning down. He smiles slightly and kisses Jim’s temple. Jim feels the comfort through a veil at first, but it’s clearer with each peck Bones gives him.

“I know you do,” he whispers against his lips, voice a little shaky, and Jim knows he understands.

***

Jim is over 50 hours late for their anniversary, but he’s resolute to celebrate anyway.

Bones orders him to take a 4-rotation break and Jim assumes cooking a peach pie—or the closest thing to it he can manage with the weird pear-cherry fruits that actually taste like peaches they picked up in the last friendly world they visited—and spending a few extra minutes in the bathroom grooming can’t be taxing activities.

Choosing what to wear has him pouting not soon after that. He stares at his drawers like they’re personally making this difficult for him, when in reality it’s just that he doesn’t have many clothes besides his uniform and his dress uniform, none of which he deems appropriate for the occasion.

He sighs, frustrated. He’s not used to this. He’s never had a relationship or anything even remotely similar to it.

His dates always preferred him naked, it didn’t matter what Jim put on and he never felt like trying hard and having a special evening with any of them. He always assumed his prowess in bed would make up for anything else and he didn’t want them coming back anyway, so why bother?

Now, though, now it’s different. Jim huffs again, refusing to give up. He keeps rummaging through his meager wardrobe until his hand closes around something silky and cool to the touch in the back of his last dresser.

He remembers what it is in a second and whoops in triumph, taking out the silver garment that he wore to play Uhura’s boy toy on a planet were women ruled and men were basically eye candy. It’s designed to be revealing to the point it’s perhaps a little demeaning with a deep V neck that reaches below the navel, no sleeves and a material that clings to the body like a second skin without the help of the ties that Jim had to use on top of them and that turn the outfit—well, tacky and slightly pornographic when you’re well-endowed and have a big ass like Jim does, which none of the thin and boyish men on Jittania 3 did.

Bones and he were still just friends when the mission took place. Bones’ complaints and uneasiness with the dress have a different meaning now and Jim chuckles as he slips into it, leaving out the ties for the legs and keeping the one around his hips.

Really, this isn’t worse than their wetsuits and it’s something Bones can take off of him now, so he’s positive he’s going to like it.

There are no candles on the table, but Jim dims the lights and puts music, setting a long and quiet playlist mixing instrumental songs they both like. It’s mostly music from Earth, but there are Tellarite melodies too and Vulcan ballads that are the most beautiful things Jim has ever heard and can only listen without choking when he’s with Bones.

“You are the worst patient in the history of mankind, I swear to God,” Bones grouches after walking in and gaping at the room and at him, eyes appraising Jim from head to toe despite his glower, “Damn it, Jim, what part of _you need to rest_ you didn’t get?”

Then he proceeds to kiss Jim silly, just like Jim was hoping he would, fingers already hooking in the loose fastening of the robe, a leg spreading Jim’s thighs to simultaneously make room for himself and push Jim to the separation between the sleeping area of their quarters and the rest of it, dinner forgotten on the table—not that Jim minds.

“The worst boyfriend too?” Jim asks playfully, bare arms lacing around Bones’ neck as he lets himself be led.  
Bones nips at his neck a tad too hard, making him yelp, and Jim can feel his smirk on his skin. “And the worst Captain,” the doctor declares, tongue soothing as it laps at what has to be the biggest hickey Jim’s gotten since they’re together. He takes it as Bones _really_ likes the Jittanian dress, “The most childish, insufferable, stubborn—“  
“You just have the worst taste ever then, Bones,” Jim quips.

He peeps at Bones through his lashes, licks kiss-swollen lips.

Maybe he’s a lousy boyfriend, a not-so-good Captain as well, but damn if he’s not _lucky_ despite of it. He’s got Bones and the best crew in the ‘Fleet to prove that.

“I wasn’t done,” Bones grumbles.

He takes Jim’s bottom lip between his own and sucks it to his mouth, making Jim gasp, and spends the next several minutes kissing him like stopping it’s not a viable option, hands roaming through Jim’s body, getting wrinkles all over the soft fabric as he clutches and gropes and pulls Jim so close to him he can feel the heat through his shirt and undershirt against his bare chest.

When he lands on their bed, bouncing slightly on his back, he lets go of Bones’ neck and sprawls on the mattress for him to stare, watching how his effort enlarges Bones’ pupils until the hazel-green in his eyes is but a memory, a tiny line of mostly jade around them.

He loves driving Bones this wild, this crazy with the need to be with him. It’s a good look on him—debauched and intense, single-minded and riveted—and feeling wanted by him is better than a drug for Jim.

“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs huskily, his best come-hither look firmly in place, “I’ll make the wait worth your while, Bones. Promise.”  
Bones just stares, panting. “ _Jim_.”

His name stumbles out of Bones’ lips, rushed and awed, and Jim makes a mental note to wear this thing more often as Bones kisses him again, lips overlapping hotly with his own, hands resuming their exploration, this time sneaking under Jim’s dress through the front and fingers spreading on the small of his back and then lower.

Jim moans and arches, head dropping on the bed, and he encourages Bones to keep going grinding his thigh against the protruding bulge between his legs. His arms drive Bones lower, gluing him to his chest, and his fingers are nimble in finding the hem of his uniform and tugging it up, scratching and rubbing Bones’ strong back as they go.

But they are halted in their progress, Bones’ hands taking them in his as he straddles Jim’s hips and kisses his knuckles gently, over and over, until Jim starts squirming beneath him and blushes for something other than arousal.

“As I was saying,” Bones speaks, voice hoarse but clear, “You’re the most childish, insufferable, stubborn—“  
Jim groans, chagrined. “Yeah, I know I’m a pain, okay? I know! I do what I—“  
“—giving, noble, brilliant, bravest man I’ve ever known,” Bones kisses the back of his palms this time and Jim ignores how loud his breath hitches with that gesture, how his eyes prickle as Bones looks adoringly at him, “You make it worth my while every single day, Jim,” Bones kisses the inner side of wrists, takes his damn sweet time to trace a path from there to his chin and then to his mouth, where he breathes, “Happy anniversary.”

And if Jim doesn’t stop trembling after that, Bones doesn’t mention it. He simply keeps taking him apart with gentle but claiming touches and slow advances, making him wonder if he’s still inside his own head making all of this up just to have something to hold on to.

By the time Bones is finally, _finally_ pounding into him, Jim has no idea what he’s mumbling in between pants and loud moans, but whatever it is, Bones likes it so much his pace falters, hips speeding up as Jim’s legs grip him closer, guide him deeper.

Later on, when they’re both sated and clean, munching pieces of their dinner in bed with arms and legs still tangled in each other, Jim thinks he might have said _I love you_ until his throat quit on him, until he summed it up with one last low, wrecked _Bones_ as he came hot and deep inside Jim.

He’s not sure until they get ready to sleep and Bones curls up around him, whispering the same words on his nape in lieu of good night.

“I know,” he says, and he sounds so _happy_ Jim can’t find it in him to feel embarrassed, “I love you too, Jim. I love you.”

Whatever he did to deserve this, Jim doesn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jittania 3 and Jim's dress were inspired by TNG episode "Angel One". I strongly recommend you to google it if you haven't seen Jonathan Frakes in it (just for the lols because wow, that outfit was hideous, I made it prettier for Jim okay).
> 
> Also, the haven inside Jim's mind is supposed to be a consequence of his mind meld with Spock Prime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reboot!version of "The Man Trap", the first episode of Star trek TOS. Watching it isn't necessary to read it though.
> 
> I cried writing this??? Wtf (no, it's not that good, I'm just lame). I blame the flu that's trying to kill me and also [rochester](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rochester/pseuds/rochester) for being an enabler and telling me this was good enough to finish.
> 
> Seriously I'm sick so this is going to have mistakes and suck quite a bit, but here.

Jim decides to give the crew a break and even though he hates it, he agrees to pick up a group of Science officers from a remote planet.

Spock raises an eyebrow at him when he tells him the news.

Jim shrugs and doesn’t say a word. He’s sure the Vulcan understands the logical—ha—need to give the crew a break after losing 8 members and having both their Commanding officers under the weather for a few days due to their last mission.

They’re not scheduled for shore leave yet. This is the next best thing and it has the amazing side effect of keeping him safe and sound for the next three weeks or so.

Jim feels like he owes Bones the down time and vows to be in his best behavior until the next risky assignment is thrown their way.

***

Nancy Gardner is one of the scientists the Enterprise has to carry to Starbase 24. The name in the list Jim checked seemed as inconspicuous as the rest of them. He didn’t pay it any mind.

He’s regretting that now as he stands with his senior crew to greet them and the woman throws herself to his C.M.O’s arms, apparently forgetting what protocol is.

The high heels she’s wearing with the Science blue dress and the way her hair falls on one side of her face, silky and curly, aren’t regulation either.

Jim hates her already.

“Oh, Leonard!” she cries as she fucking _clings_ to Bones’ neck, “Look at you! How is it fair that you’re even more handsome than you were in college, a divorce and another career later?”

Jim clenches his jaw and takes a long, calming breath through his nose—no, it doesn’t help, but it gives him something to do other than stomping his foot on the floor and demand them to separate—lets it out and decides to give them five seconds.

Five seconds for that harpy to get her claws off of _his_ Bones or for Bones to get her off him—which, yeah, would be nicer than him just standing there dumbfounded.

He can barely keep his poise when an actual smile appears on Bones’ face and he hugs her back.

Jim has a bad feeling about this but he can’t decide whether it’s just him being a possessive, petty bastard or if it’s his gut trying to tell him things are about to go to Hell thanks to that woman.

He’s never been the jealous type. Then again, Bones has never—not even when they were just friends—showed any kind of serious interest in someone else. So maybe—apparently—he is.

“Nancy, you haven’t changed at all in 15 years,” Bones says, hands gripping her arms and—oh, _oh_ , there, finally breaking apart from her and looking at Jim, apologetic and ashamed, “I’m sorry, Captain, she’s an old friend. We got carried away.”

 _An old friend my ass,_ Jim thinks, about to be sick, but he _is_ the Captain and he’s going to act as such.

“We figured, Doctor,” he brushes it off, getting air to speak from only God knows where because he can’t breathe.

He plasters a smile on his face and carries on with the introductions.

***

It’s only when he’s locked inside his ready room, alone with his poisonous thoughts and a relentless pressure in the center of his chest, that it hits him.

If there was a title for the biggest asshole in the Alpha Quadrant, that would be him.

Bones did nothing wrong. He came across an old college sweetheart of his and he gave her a hug and smiled—fucking _smiled_ , but why wouldn’t Jim want him to smile? Right, because he’s an asshole—at her and was awfully nice, sure, but does Jim really get to be mad about it after he let Joe fuck him ten ways to Sunday and then some and _told_ Bones about it thinking he was going to hate Jim forever—or rub it in his face often, at the very least—only for him to nod in understanding and let it go as if it wasn’t important, as if Jim had never been in love with a different version of him and _planned_ to _stay_ with him instead of Bones?

It doesn’t matter Jim is choking with the crippling fear of losing Bones to someone who’s probably better for him than Jim is.

He’s done so much worse—granted, they weren’t together, but does that matter? Jim _picked someone else over him_!—and Bones has never made a fuss over it, no matter how much Jim knows it hurt him.

The least Jim can do right now is behave like a mature adult; like a good, accepting partner and let Bones catch up with his ‘old friend’.

Yeah—no, he can’t do that, but he can bullshit his way through pretty much everything and that’s what he’s going to do with this.

***

Bones, surely sensing something is off with him, comes to see him and doesn’t even bother chiming.

He overrides the lock on the door and steps inside.

“Captain,” he greets stiffly.  
“Bones, really,” Jim raises his eyebrows, “You just used your medical override to come in here and I’m not dying, so I think you’re safe not calling me Captain.”  
“Yeah, well,” Bones huffs, crossing his arms and looking around like he’s making sure Jim wasn’t doing anything stupid in his absence, “I wanted to make sure you let me in and stopped sulking.”

Okay. This is it. Jim can do this. He has to. He owes Bones this much.

He blinks innocently. “I wasn’t sulking.”

It’s not a lie, not _exactly,_ and Bones is too good at detecting those anyway so Jim doesn’t bother trying.

He just doesn’t consider what he was doing sulking.

Bones gives him an unimpressed look, raises an eyebrow. “So you’re completely fine with Nancy being on the ship?”  
“Yeap,” Jim swirls on his chair, cocks his head to the side and smiles a little, “I gotta tell you though, that old friend bit? That was _lame_ , Bones. I’m sure even Spock could tell you were together.”  
Bones ignores the bait and his scowl deepens. “You don’t want me to explain what she was to me? Anything?”

Jim isn’t lying next either because that’s not what he wants. He wants her gone and away from Bones but that’s not something he can have.

He feels there’s something _wrong_ with her, but he can’t pinpoint what it is.

Maybe it’s the fact she’s awfully interested in having Bones back.

“Do _you_ want to explain something to me? I got she was your girlfriend in Med-school and that you’re hotter now. Guess I’m the lucky one, hmm?” Jim grins wider, playful, “Did you have fat cheeks back then? That’s a pity. I love your dimples.”  
Bones rolls his eyes. “Jim,” he rumbles, exasperated, “I’m trying to have a _conversation_ here. With _you_. If you could stop joking for about thirty seconds, that’d be peachy.”  
Jim sighs, standing up. “Bones, why are you making such a big deal out of this? It’s fine!” he lies through his teeth, cheeky grin firmly in place, “So your ex-girlfriend is on board, so what?”  
“I’m making a big deal of this because I know you, Jim, and I _know_ it’s a big deal for _you_.”

In the blink of an eye, Bones has somehow managed to close the distance between them and put his arms around Jim which isn’t fair at all.

Jim’s breath hitches and he looks down.

_Pull it together, Kirk. Come on. Don’t be an infant._

“Okay, so maybe I’m not exactly happy about it,” he admits very, very quietly.  
Bones holds him closer. “There you go,” he coos, pressing his forehead against his, “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Jim, but there’s no need for you to lie to me. We can talk about this and if you don’t want me to see her, I won’t see her. It’s that simple.”  
“No, it’s not,” Jim frowns, looking at him again, “Bones, I saw you. You were really glad to see her. I bet you have lots to talk about and if—if you want to hang out with her, you can. I trust you.”

Bones stares at him, stunned. Jim can feel himself blushing, but he swallows and reminds himself he’s doing the right thing; he’s doing what he’s supposed to do even when all he wants is to forbid Bones to see her and throw her off his ship.

What if this only helps Bones realize he could do so much better than Jim?

What if he falls in love with her again and wants to leave the ship? That would _kill_ Jim.

“I trust you,” he repeats, voice shaky, because he wants Bones to be happy even if it’s without him.

Bones kisses him softly, lips barely brushing his but staying warmly against his own. Jim sighs, trying to enjoy the comfort Bones is providing but failing miserably.

In his head, the only thing he can hear is _see, see, he wants to be with her, he’s agreeing so readily it’s obvious he still has feelings—_

“No,” Bones says, breaking apart, “You’re right, it was nice seeing her again. I wasn’t expecting it and we were good friends, so I wanted to know how life has been treating her but, Jim, she’s obviously interested in me. I won’t spend time with her knowing that. I won’t encourage her.”  
Jim looks at him, agape. “Really?”  
Bones looks at him like Jim is three different kinds of idiot, but he’s smiling and not letting go of his waist. “I already told her we’re together and that I’m going to spend the spare time the Enterprise playing a glorified cab gives me to be with you.”  
“ _Bones_ ,” Jim beams, swallows whatever else Bones wanted to tell him with an eager kiss.

***

Let’s say that Bones falling asleep as soon as his head hits the pillows instead of paying just a little bit of attention to Jim that night—after a long, exhausting dinner they spent playing nice with their guests with that woman using every opportunity she had to remind Jim she once had Bones and might as well have him again—doesn’t exactly make him feel good about the whole thing.

 _See,_ the same vicious voice in Jim’s head keeps saying, _he’s losing interest. He doesn’t want you anymore, not as much, and soon he won’t want you at all._

Bones doesn’t wake up, not even when Jim keeps caressing his eyebrows and breathing softly—and at times raggedly—on his face.

Jim doesn’t sleep.

***

“Captain?”  
“Lieutenant.”

Jim smiles faintly to Uhura in the turbolift, jaw pleasantly sore after waking Bones up with a blowjob that he hopes has toppled all the previous ones he’s ever gotten. He can’t speak for previous lovers but Jim knows he’s pretty good at giving head and today was definitely his best so far, so he feels—well—not _good_ , exactly, but calmer. Yes. Bones definitely liked it a lot. Jim hopes that’s enough to have him thinking of him throughout the day.

He startles when the lift comes to a sudden halt.

“Jim,” Uhura says, fixing a concerned gaze on him, “I know you’re going stir-crazy with this assignment.”  
“A little bit,” Jim admits because yeah, he is, and this is safe. This he can talk about, “Sorry if you’re bored too. I thought it was a good idea, at the time.”  
Uhura shakes her head, her ponytail gracefully swinging from side to side. “I know why you did it. I understand. But there’s something else. Something is eating at you.”

Jim swallows. _Don’t even say it. Bones has been nothing but faithful to you. Can you say the same? Can you tell him who you saw in your head the other day?_

He still wants to talk about it, but he has enough with his own accusations. He doesn’t want to hear Uhura agreeing, telling him what a huge dick he is and how Bones deserves better.

He’s selfish. He wants to keep him anyway.

“I just,” Jim laughs and the sound is the opposite of cheerful and easy-going, but it’s all he can manage. It’s the best he has and it isn’t good enough and isn’t that the problem? “It’s nothing. Restart the lift, Lieutenant.”

Uhura scowls, but does as she’s told.

When the turbolift arrives to the bridge, she touches his shoulder softly and walks to her station.

Jim sits on his chair and resolutely does not think about that woman and why Bones isn’t on the Bridge yet.

***

Alpha shift is about to be over when a couple of crewmen rush into Sickbay with an ominously still body between them. They say they found him passed out on Deck 12.

Bones signals M’Benga not to let them go and checks the pulse on the neck before running a tricorder over the body.

It all yields the same result.

Ensign Green is dead.

***

“Was it a heart attack?” Jim asks, confusion and alarm itched onto his every feature, “Isn’t he too young to have one?”

God, but Bones hates to call him down here only to have this sort of news to give him.

Jim takes every death that happens under his watch so personally.

Bones shakes his head. “Electrolytes imbalance,” he explains, covering the body again with a thin sheet, “There’s not an ounce of salt left in his body, Jim, that’s the cause of death. Now, why would a healthy young man suddenly lose Sodium and Chloride so fast that his brain swelled and killed him, I don’t have a clue. There’s no medical condition that could cause this.”  
“What about the marks on the Ensign’s face?” Spock asks, hands clasped behind his back as usual, “Are they related to the event that lead to his death, Doctor?”

Bones stares at the Vulcan, gives little thought to the blemishes on Green’s corpse that the tricorder and his clinic eye both ruled out as simple bruises and wonders, not for the first time, why Spock has to turn into Jim’s shadow whenever they’re on duty.

He called for the Captain specifically, not for the First Officer as well.

He crosses his arms and grumbles, “The Hell would I know how Green got those bruises? I’m a doctor, man, not a detective.”  
“Assuming as you’ve explained that the loss of salt and the marks are the only two things out of place in this instance, I would expect them to be related.”  
“Occam’s razor, Spock?” Jim chimes in, sounding irritated, “Really?”  
Spock tilts his head to the side. “The simplest hypothesis, the one with the fewest assumptions, is most likely to be correct.”  
Bones glares. “Lex parsimoniae,” he recites in Latin. The Vulcan blinks at him, “Yes, I know about that principle, Spock. I don’t need your cheap lessons in Philosophy on top of this weird case of God-knows-what.”  
Spock raises an eyebrow at him, sardonic. “Truly, Doctor McCoy, I do not believe God has anything—“  
“That’s enough!” Jim barks, “I won’t have you losing time we should be using in figuring out what the hell happened to Green arguing!”

At once, they both shut up and stand at attention. Jim looks daggers at the two of them for what feels like an age but in reality it’s only a few seconds, charged with tension you could cut with a butter knife.

“Spock, go back to the Bridge,” once Spock is gone, Jim turns to him, knuckles going white with the force he’s clutching his forearms, arms crossed and eyes cold as ice, “Doctor, do you think this could’ve been a murder? Is there a chance that a killer is running loose on our ship?”

Jim is all business now, just as he should be considering the circumstances, and Bones grits his teeth against the pang of shame he feels. He knows respecting protocol has never been his strong suit but these last couple of days have taught him that sometimes he needs to try harder to remember it, to behave like the Starfleet Officer that he is instead of the grouchy Doctor from Georgia he used to be.

“I can’t rule anything out, Jim,” he admits, “I really have no idea what happened to Green. He could’ve been killed, yes; but not by a human being, that much I can tell you.”

Jim simply nods, expression hardening as he tries to stare a hole through the sheet covering the body between them.

“So there may or may not be a freaky alien thing somewhere on board, killing my crewmen,” Jim states, closing his eyes tight for just one second in plain grief, eyes downcast and fixed on the still figure on the table, “That’s what you’re saying.”

Bones grimaces in sympathy; Green had been just a kid, almost as young as Chekov. Neither of them knew him, not really, and he could bet that’s yet another detail Jim is beating himself up for.

He aches to comfort his partner but tries for decorum instead. They’re on duty right now; he’d do well remembering that.

“Yes,” he says, quiet, “I’m sorry, Captain.”

Jim shakes his head and turns, walking to the comm. unit attached to the bulkhead.

“Kirk to Spock.”  
“ _Spock here, Captain._ ”  
“Go to yellow alert. I’ll be there in five minutes.”  
“ _Acknowledged._ ”

The klaxons of the emergency system are muted fast but the light is still glaringly present in almost every corner.

Jim lifts the sheet from Green’s body carefully. He exposes the head and takes a closer look at the bruises in the Ensign’s face.

“Don’t they look like suction marks to you, Bones?” Jim asks, brow furrowed in concentration, “Like an octopus or one Hell of a hickey?”

He has to stifle a snort at the last remark—only Jim would know about that. He leans down to inspect the discoloration and the pattern they form in the skin, and straightens in amazement.

Jim could be right.

“I’ll take a sample and examine it with a microscope,” he announces, strolling to gather what he needs from a nearby cabinet.  
“Let me know what you find.”

By the time he finishes arranging the surgical tools in the tray and produces a laser scalpel out of it, Jim is gone.

***

He’s been staring at the thin layers of tissue he cut from Green’s body for almost an hour when he feels eyes on him.

Nancy stands by the door, smiling coyly and playing with her hair as she looks at him.

There’s a glint in her eyes that instantly puts Bones on edge and he gives up scrutinizing the samples when she walks towards him.

The last time she touched him he had such a visceral reaction to it he was tempted to run a tricorder over himself but disregarded his discomfort for what it was; a contact with romantic purposes that didn’t come from Jim.

She tries putting a hand on his shoulder this time. He evades the touch, standing up, and busies himself putting away the tissue slides he’d been looking at.

“Leonard, you must be starving,” she says, “I’ve programmed your favorite meals in the central replicator. I’m sure you can delegate what you’re doing. Let’s go and enjoy dinner together.”  
“I will have dinner with Jim when I’m done with my report, Nancy,” he says pointedly, “I’m sure you heard about what happened. I don’t have time for socials, not today.”  
“You don’t have time for me?” she inquires, clearly hurt.

Bones finishes what he’s doing and almost jumps out of his skin when he turns from the filing cabinet and bumps into Nancy, who managed to step as near to him as she could in the two seconds it took him to open a drawer and close it.

“You don’t have time for me?” she repeats, her face contorting in rage, “But you have time for _him_?”  
“Nancy,” he starts, voice firm despite the way his skin crawls when her hands clutch his forearms, “We’re over. We’ve been over for a long time and you being aboard the ship I serve in won’t change that. I’ve moved on and so should you.”  
“Moved on?” she cries, letting go of him as if he’d burned her, “But, Leonard, you used to love me so much and I felt it, I felt it when we hugged! It was still there, your love for me, and I want it! Why won’t you give it to me?”

She gnaws at her index finger in an almost manic way, staring at him with wide and crazed eyes.

He’s more worried about her mental health than he is about hurting her feelings but pain can turn anyone irrational so he doesn’t call for a medical team and lock her in a cushioned room.

He knew her once; she’s a smart woman. Once she’s done saying her piece, she will realize her mistake and hopefully won’t try anything of the sort again for the remaining of her stay.

“That’s a nice memory, Nancy, nothing else,” he explains, “We’re different people now and I’m in love with someone else.”  
“That man child?” she spits out, “You’re picking him over me? Tell me, Leonard, how much longer do you think you can be in a relationship with a needy pup? I’ve seen the way he looks at you! He never has enough, does he? Surely it must be exhausting. I’d be so much better for you.”

Bones huffs in annoyance. That’s it; he’s done rejecting her nicely. He takes her arm and drags her to the door of the lab, stopping this shy of activating the sensors that open it.

“That man child is the Captain of this ship,” he reminds her harshly, “I love him and the rest is not of your damn business. Now get the Hell out of my Sickbay.”

Nancy goes away, seething and muttering under her breath.

Bones sits in front of a computer terminal and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He goes over his report one last time before calling Jim and Spock to share what he found. He bites every smartass reply he has for the Vulcan back and focuses on building a somewhat reasonable hypothesis to explain what happened to Green instead.

***

As soon as they’re alone in their quarters that night, Jim kisses him. It’s a brief but sound kiss followed by a small smile.

“Thanks for being nice to Spock, Bones.”  
Bones harrumphs, hands gripping Jim by the hips to pull him closer to his body. “I still don’t like him.”  
Jim kisses him again, sweetly this time. “You’re just still mad at him because he threw me out on the first class M planet he found and a hengra almost eats me,” at his answering growl, Jim chuckles, “Bones, it’s been like three years!”

He’s aware of that, of course, but he doubts he’ll ever be able to get along with Jim’s second in command unless under the direst of circumstances. Remembering how Spock reacted to Jim being on the Vengeance with Khan only proves to him that the Vulcan has a lot to learn about friendship and maybe Jim has patience enough to hold his hand and teach him but Bones ran out of it too long ago.

“Hm-mm,” he concedes, mouthing the light stubble on Jim’s jaw, “I forgive but not forget, Jim.”  
“Right,” Jim says with a breath that’s half moan and half laugh.

Jim tilts his head back and grips his shoulders, responsive as ever to his every touch. Bones obliges, wetting the offered skin of his neck with his tongue and sucking every little spot he knows makes Jim pant with want. He’s careful not to apply enough pressure to leave a love bite; he could fix those later before anyone could see them but it would feel tacky after the events of the day.

He’s tired and his head hurts but they both need this. He won’t black out like he did last night when he practically passed out the instant he was in bed with Jim in his arms.

“God, I missed you,” Jim breathes out huskily, deft fingers already working his pants open, “I missed you so much, Bones.”

They had sex just this morning. It was incredibly intense for the usual quickies they have sometimes before Alpha shift and the memory of Jim’s lips sealed around his cock, mouth stretched as far as it could go and cheeks hollowed with the force of his suckling as the tip of Bones’ cock brushed the very back of his throat, is enough to get him hard.

His hands are less apt at undressing them than Jim’s, the tip of his fingers going numb from time to time. The extent of his fatigue comes as a surprise but he fights against it, lying down on top of Jim in the bed and using the energy he has to snap his hips into him, alternating with a grinding motion that makes Jim stutter.

It’s easy to forget about his fatigue with Jim’s flushed and heated skin against him; with the perfect way he clenches around him—hot and tight enough to make him grunt—with how he arches beneath him and how he bends his pretty neck to kiss Bones but can’t manage more than panting and moaning against him, mouth slack in pleasure.

He doesn’t let Nancy’s words ruin the moment, not even when they mix with the knowledge that he’s not the only one who’s made Jim feel this way.

When Jim comes with a shout, Bones lets his name soothe the stubborn ache that sometimes settles in his chest and trips over the edge soon afterward.

Dredd is Jim’s past and Bones is his present. That is all he will allow himself to think on the matter.

***

He wakes up suddenly, the weight behind his eyes and the base of his skull still present and pulsing when he sits up too quickly in the bed.

M’Benga gives him an unimpressed stare as one of his nurses takes notes in a PADD.

“What the hell?“ he gripes, confused. Beside him, Jim kisses his cheek and curls around him so his colleague can keep running a tricorder over him.  
“Bones, don’t be mad,” Jim says, ducking his head to kiss his shoulder and staying there as a shiver goes through him with enough force for Bones to wholly feel it too, “You didn’t wake up with the alarm and I couldn’t wake you either, I freaked out and called Medical.”

He supposes it’d be easier if he weren’t stark naked under the sheets and Jim weren’t only clad in a dirty pair of boxers that are baggy enough to let Bones know they’re his, not Jim’s.

He feels the telltale and dull sting of a needle recently applied to his neck. His headache is receding gradually and since he’s feeling better, M’Benga and Azikiwe relax enough to smirk at him at the obviousness of the situation.

“Your Sodium and Chloride levels were low, sir,” M’Benga informs him, “Not by much but definitely below normal and definitely enough to cause symptoms that you ignored.”  
“There are hundreds of causes for a headache, Geoffrey, excuse me if I didn’t think much of it,” he complains.  
“What about loss of energy and muscle weakness, Doctor?” Azikiwe counters, “That combined with the events of yesterday should have been enough to alert you it could be hyponatremia.”

His breath catches with the implications he could be sick and stupidly exposed Jim to whatever it is he caught from Green’s body despite the precautions he took. He turns fast to cup his lover’s face in his hands, looking for any sign of illness in him.

“I’m fine, Bones,” Jim assures him softly, pressing his forehead against his, “But you’re flashing your colleagues, just so you know.”  
“Goddamn it,” he rearranges the sheets around his hips while Jim chuckles, “Did you find anything? Is it contagious?”  
“Nothing new, I’m afraid, and we’re not sure,” M’Benga replies, “But if you would allow us to keep examining you down in Sickbay, maybe we could.”

Bones sighs, resigned, and ushers them out with the promise he’s going to be there for them to scan him to their hearts’ content after he takes a sonic shower and gets dressed.

“You should come too, Jim,” he says gruffly, “Whatever it is, if it’s transmittable, then I—“  
“Bones,” Jim shakes his head and gives him a fond look, “I’d tell you if I felt funny, trust me. Besides, M’Benga checked me. My cation levels are normal.”  
“Yeah, for now.”  
“I just need to go to the Bridge for a while, Bones,” Jim tells him, his enticing backside facing him as he walks to the bathroom, “I’ll be there with you to hold your hand in no time, promise.”

Bones goes to Sickbay alone, grumbling.

Jim can joke about it but doctors make the worst patients.

***

The most advanced and detailed scans in Medbay find absolutely nothing wrong with him; no entry points of infection, no marks or traces of marks anywhere on his body.

Jim is chipper and still holding his hand when they bring in two more bodies, both male  and with the same bruising in their faces.

They exchange a grave look and don’t see much of each other the rest of the day, busy trying to learn what on Earth is going on in the ship before it kills someone else.

***

At dinner, things are awkward to say the least.

Bones does his best to ignore Nancy without being overtly rude. Uhura and Carol, bless their hearts, engage Nancy in conversation soon enough. They seem determined not to let his ex keep glaring at Jim across the table while Scotty and Keenser provide amusement to the rest of Nancy’s team.

“We got this,” Carol tells him in a whisper, “You and Jim can go get some rest.”

He’s mouthing a ‘thank you’ when Nancy’s voice gets heard over the laughter around her.

“Oh, pet names are the best! Mine for Leonard was Plum. He didn’t like it, of course, they hardly ever do! But he got used to it. He wasn’t tanned when we met, you see, so whenever he blushed he looked like a ripe plum. It was the cutest thing.”

By the time he’s done discouraging everyone who dares to laugh—although Sulu, the cheeky bastard, just laughs harder at him when he threatens him—Jim is nowhere to be seen.

Cursing, he goes to look for him.

***

He finds Jim in the bowels of the ship where everything is dark except for the distant glow of the Warp core.

The sight of it behind the thick glass walls is still enough to make his chest clench painfully but he ignores it.

He knows that Jim can only be feeling worse; coming here is a sort of personal punishment and he only does it when he’s extremely upset and blaming himself for something that more often than not isn’t even his fault.

Legs tightly clasped between his arms as he sits on the floor, Jim stares at the engine with a blank look and jagged breath and Bones can’t take it, can’t take Jim remembering what it was to die when he’s right there to see him suffer through it.

“Stop it, stop,” he orders, urgent, holding Jim’s head snugly to his chest so he can hear the mad pounding of his heart and put a hand over Jim’s eyes, “Focus on me, Jim. I’m here.”

Jim writhes but not to get out of his grip. He takes a shuddering breath that is only missing wetness to be a sob and buries his face in his shirt, hands roaming Bones’ back desperately until he seems convinced this is what’s real; them, together, holding on to each other and not letting go.

“You should hate me,” Jim says at length in the smallest of tones, “I don’t know why you don’t hate me.”

Bones shushes him, tilting his chin down until he’s able to kiss Jim’s fair hair, sun-kissed as if he were bathing in sunlight every day instead of traveling through the depth of space.

He knows what triggered this, of course he does; he knows Jim better than he knows himself.

What he doesn’t know is how Nancy managed to strike Jim where it would hurt the most; in the ever-present token of their bond that he uses instead of Bones’ birth name, in the tiny word he could only miss when it was gone along with Jim and a stranger called him _McCoy_ in his place.

“Jim, listen to me. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. When you call me Bones it’s not the same than her calling me whatever ridiculous fruit she thought I looked like, it’s—“  
“You hate it too, you just ‘got used to it’!” Jim shouts, sounding wrecked, “You told me you hated it in the Academy almost every day!”  
“I didn’t understand, Jim,” he tries again, this time breaking apart to caress Jim’s cheeks with his thumbs, hands cupping his face. His blue eyes are wide and so full of heartache it makes his breath hitch, “I do now.”  
Jim shakes his head, the beginning of tears clinging to his eyelashes as stubbornly as he’s clinging to negativity. “I’m horrible to you, Bones. I’m the fucking worst! I keep almost dying on you—“  
“It’s your job,” Bones interjects, “And my job is to keep you alive. We _work_ , Jim, and nothing you say is going to change my mind about that.”

Jim bites his bottom lip, still refusing to cry, and Bones kisses the moisture on his eyes away at best he can.

“I love you,” Jim breathes out, voice clogged, “But I loved _him_ too and I don’t—I don’t understand how you can forgive me for that.”

The confession doesn’t surprise Bones, not really. He knew despite the careful way in which Jim always described his relationship with his alter ego and the few compromising words he chose. He knew because of the choice Jim made back then to stay behind and away from him. He knew.

“I know,” he says softly, softly enough for Jim to _feel_ he doesn’t resent him since he’s unable to understand it, “I know you wanted to make things right for him, that you were going to sacrifice everything else you love to make him happy but Jim—that’s who you are; that’s why I love you. How could I hate you for it?”

That does it; Jim lets out a watery laugh and sobs, nuzzling into his neck when Bones comforts him with broad palms on his nape and back, gently rocking them back and forth.

They stay there in Engineering until Gamma shift.

***

He spends the rest of the week locked in the labs and avoiding Nancy like the plague.

There are thankfully no more deaths, only mysterious disappearances of salt shakers and replicator units.

Jim isn’t happy about him refusing to go have dinner with the rest of the crew but Bones is adamant about them staying in their quarters until she’s gone. If he sees that woman again he will punch her and that’s not the way his mama raised him, he tells Jim, and that’s enough to appease him.

He’s checking scans from his own body for the umpteenth time, feeling like he’s finally about to make a breakthrough, when Spock comes barging into the room and interrupts him.

“Good God, man,” he swears, “Can’t you see some of us are working? What do you want?”  
“Apologies, Doctor,” Spock says curtly, “I have discovered the culprit.”

Even Bones isn’t as blind as not to see how tightly the Vulcan is holding himself. That makes his anger puff into nothing. He stares at Spock in rapt attention and waits for him to go on.

“The Captain shared with me a—hunch that he had. He did not wish to tell you until he had enough evidence to confirm his suspicions about Miss Gardner.”  
“Nancy?” Bones frowns, “What’s she got to do with anything?”  
“There is no ‘she’, Doctor. I conducted a wide research of her and her teammates. They are, as humans would say, clean. However, in every world and ship she’s ever been in either large quantities of salt are replicated and then lost or people die of hyponatremia. I believe the conclusion is evident enough for you to draw it as well.”  
Bones is suddenly glad he’s sitting. He rubs his face with a hand, dumbfounded. “Nancy is the alien life form we’ve been looking for.”  
Spock cocks his head in agreement. “Correct.”  
“But why didn’t she kill me when we were young? I don’t get it.”  
“It’s highly likely the alien does not only need salt to subsist. It may need something else, something you were able to provide well enough for it to spare you. It is, of course, just an assumption.”

Before he can reply, he gets yet another visitor.

Uhura comes in, looking panicked.

“Spock, the Captain’s signal—it’s gone,” she says, pressing, “The computer can’t find him anywhere on the ship.”  
“What!?” Bones howls, “What about his vitals, did you check them?”  
Uhura nods, grim. “They’re too weak to trace and fading by the minute. Sulu has ordered teams in every Deck to look for Nancy Gardner but they’re not finding anything.”

The words stop making sense for him right then. He can see Uhura still consulting with Spock but he’s deaf to it.

He remembers well how sweet and caring Nancy was with him, how she seemed to bloom with his affection and never left his side for long until she found a better suitor for her needs.

If she—it—kills Jim, Bones knows with blinding certainty there’ll be no oath that can stop his retaliation.

***

He runs like a mad man, bumps into a Security officer and snatches the phaser from his belt before he can realize what happened.

He doesn’t know where he’s going but he runs and runs, takes turbolifts so many times he doesn’t even know in which Deck he’s at anymore, praying he gets there in time and fearing he will only find Jim’s corpse.

He stops outside the botanical garden and goes in, ignoring Spock who follows suit.

***

“Bones!” Jim grins, safe and sound, throwing himself to his neck so abruptly he almost dumps the phaser, “You found me.”  
“Of course I did,” he grouses, for some reasons still not relieved to see him unharmed, “What in blue blazes were you doing, Jim? Your vitals went nuts!”  
“Uh, nothing?” his partner replies, squinting, “Maybe they just malfunctioned, Bones, you know how machines are.”  
“Captain,” Spock calls, sounding almost confused, “Have you seen Miss Gardner?”  
“Nope,” Jim answers, his right hand stroking Bones’ face tenderly.

The doctor isn’t exactly used to so much PDA, least of all in front of Spock, but Jim’s touch calms his nerves and he can’t find it in him to complain about it.

He holds Jim with his free arm, perusing their surroundings with the weapon raised and set on stun.

It’s only when Jim furtively licks the hand he used to caress him that he understands why he’s still tense.

It’s not Jim.

He pushes it away from him roughly. What looks exactly like Jim stares back at him, baby blues stunned and hurting, and he points his phaser at it.

“Nancy! What did you do to him?” he snaps, “Where is he?”  
“Bones?” it blinks, chuckling just like Jim, “Cut it out, okay? This isn’t funny. Spock, tell him he’s being silly.”  
“Doctor, are you certain?” Spock asks him instead.

Instead of answering, Bones changes the setting to heat and shoots. Spock nods and begins searching through the trees and plants in the garden for any sign of the real Jim.

The creature shrieks and its form glitches—he catches a glimpse of what must be its real body, big and grey with a sucker instead of a mouth and smaller suckers on its hands, and its previous form with the brunette hair and curves of a woman’s body.

“If you killed him, I will make death seem a gift you don’t deserve,” he promises, “ _Where is he_?”  
“I’m right here, Bones! You’re hurting me!” it insists, “Don’t you love me? Why are you doing this?”

Spock is about to look under a table with flower pots filling its surface. He’s stretching a hand to lift the tablecloth when the alien tackles him, knocking him to the ground and clutching his face with its fingers, still disguised as Jim, after tossing the First Officer’s utility belt to the side with a harsh jerk.

Bones is about to shoot again when it lets go of Spock’s head with a gagging noise and flings him against the opposite wall as if he weighted nothing. The Vulcan lands with an ugly bang and Bones can only wince and change the set of the phaser again.

In the second it takes him to do that, the creature has crawled under the table and he hears a very human cry of pain.

Jim.

Bones kicks the table down, every pot on it breaking with a loud crash as it falls onto the ground. In its place, the alien is on top of Jim; its fingertips digging into Jim’s face.

Jim screams again, louder, and that’s all it takes for Bones to shoot to kill this time.

It screeches, letting go of Jim, but doesn’t die. “Please, Bones,” it beseeches him and its resemblance to the real thing is unnerving, “I need you. Don’t leave me.”

He clenches his jaw against the image and shoots two more times until it’s really dead.

There’s vomit on Jim’s Command gold shirt and in one of the corners of his mouth. He barely has enough time to reach for Spock’s belt and shove it between Jim’s teeth before his eyes go white and he starts having a violent seizure. He has no choice but to let him twist on the floor; restraining him would only harm him further.

He checks Spock next, satisfied when the First Officer only seems to have a big lump on the head.

Hands still steady, he reaches for the comm. unit beside the door and calls for a medical team.

***

When Jim comes to, Bones is snoring on a chair beside his bio-bed. His boyfriend manages to make it look almost sexy, even with his open mouth and the bit of drool coming out of it.

His left hand is a little numb, held tight between Bones’ own in an iron grip.

It only takes a sigh for Bones to jerk awake and stare at him. The open relief and joy in his face is too much for Jim. He ducks his head, embarrassed and mortified for yet again making Bones go through this even though he was trying his damnedest to give him a couple of weeks of peace and quiet.

“It was the last one of its species,” Bones tells him, tone almost too casual, “It needed love and salt to live but always wanted more of both.”

Jim sucks in a breath. He thinks about all the animals that became extinct and were lost forever back on Earth because of men and can’t help regretting the end Nancy met.

He thinks of Bones and how he’s willing to endure this and more as long as they’re together.

 _We_ work _, Jim, and nothing you say is going to change my mind about that._

 _Yes_ , Jim thinks, bright, _we do_.

“Don’t we all?” he asks with a sunny smile. Bones glares at him and he giggles, teasing, “I almost died again, Bones! You gonna let me eat french fries and chicken burgers to celebrate I’m alive, right?”  
“You’re an infant,” Bones sighs, seemingly put-upon but Jim catches the smile in his eyes and the covert grin in his mouth, “But yes. I think we all could do with some comfort food today.”

Jim whoops like a kid and only shuts up when Bones presses his lips against his and climbs on the bed next to him.

He’s still a little weak, a little shaky and more than a little broken if he’s honest with himself but Bones sees goodness in him and maybe—just maybe—he’ll believe he’s good enough to keep him and his dream life as Captain of the Enterprise someday.

“Is Spock okay, Bones?” he inquires a bit belatedly when they part.  
“I am fine, Captain,” Spock says from the foot of the bed, making Bones jump. Jim laughs, burrowing deeper into Bones’ body behind his, “It was nothing a Vulcan trance couldn’t cure.”  
“You’re secretly a voyeur, aren’t you, Spock?” Bones grouses, lying back against the pillows with a huff, “You do it on purpose and get away with it with your poker face.”  
Spock blinks, unruffled. “I assure you, Doctor, I have no idea to what you are referring.”

Jim is quite familiar by now with that particular look in Spock’s eyes. He calls bullshit with his eyebrows and almost chokes on laughter when Bones mumbles _bullcrap_ in his ear.

He falls asleep to their bickering with a smile in his face and Bones’ arms around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Azikiwe is the last name I made up for that black nurse in STID. I also made up Nancy's last name because she was married in TOS.


End file.
